


Seduction

by JohnHHolliday (Methleigh)



Category: 19th Century US RPF
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Methleigh/pseuds/JohnHHolliday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seduced, and the seducer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seduction

_The Seduced_

John has been seduced  
Though not in the usual way,  
And perhaps not at the intent of his seducers.  
He waits and watches for those he can love.  
And sometimes, not expecting, but merely observing,  
He finds some one person suddenly shines for him radiant.  
And he is lost.  
There is something special he seeks, consciously, unconsciously -   
Some pain of guilt  
Felt or overcome,  
Combined with courage and struggle, intelligence and diligence.  
He does not care about folly nor crime nor sin nor occupation.  
Looking in their eyes he sees darkness they have changed to light.  
Listening to their gestures he hears their humanity.  
They strike his mind with vision  
And he can see them in all clarity.  
And how can he help but love?  
It does not concern him  
Whether they love him or can even see him;  
Whether they think him foolish or nothing,  
He does not ask anything.  
Who is he but an intruder, an observer, filled with wonder?  
He lives in their radiant light,  
And when they are gone,  
He may still immerse himself in its memory.  
And each of them is simultaneously and individually Everything –   
The purpose for the world is such ones as they are:  
Whole, awe-inspiring, infinitely beautiful.  
Sometimes he tries in turn to seduce them,’  
Without hoping, without expecting  
To share with them their own beauty.

_The Seducer_

John waits. He waits to talk to you alone -  
All night if need be. If he loves you.  
If he can see you, can hear you.  
Many nights. All the nights.  
But he never loses patience. He never loses hope.  
If he has hope,  
For he has learned he can rely only on memory for solace;  
For he is dying and there is no time for such things.  
What he has is a glimpse of your heart and will,  
Which shine for him – glow – so that their light fills all the world.  
And he wants to be near it.  
But more, he wants to warm you with your light.  
That there will be such a thing as warmth.  
To warm himself.  
And he waits. And then he talks and talks and talks,  
Telling you.  
And he listens, watching, his eyes quiet,  
Smiling:  
Not just words, but the tiny movements –   
Poker tells that show your soul.  
And he talks until his words curl you in a blanket.  
And when words are not enough to tell you,  
His eyes will ask and he will take your hand,  
Scarred or clenched or fallen empty;  
Stroke your hair;  
Trace the lines of darkness in your face;  
Touch the tiny solid beat of your pulse, the surety of your life;  
Watch your breath lift your ribs as his struggles to do;  
Cradle your head, your mind, your thoughts.  
And he will let his body give you peace;  
Give you form and confirmation;  
Give you his trust.  
And he dare not ask, dare not want, dare not hope  
But by giving he ensures there is giving in the world.  
To feel in you lets him feel exist:  
Warm Companionship;  
Peace;  
Trust;  
And maybe, maybe  
All-enfolding delight.   
And he dare not say love, but.  
If he dare not hope to receive,  
Perhaps he can give  
To let you feel what he fears he never will.  
He would give his life for that.


End file.
